Michael let the words sink in.
“You should talk to her,” the doctor suggested.
“I can’t. It’s been too long. She must hate me.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“Do you think the nightmares will stop once you see her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want Kate or do you want to be a Marine?” He was always direct, which is what Michael needed.
“They need me. People are dying.”
“You’re only one man.”
“The military is made up of men and women. If everyone thought like that, there’d be no military.” He rose to his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked to the window.
“Don’t you deserve happiness?”
“No,” he was quick to answer.
“What about Kate? Does she deserve it?”
“Of course.” He kept his eyes trained on the view outside. The room felt like it was closing in on him. He was struggling to breathe.
“What if you are her happy ending? What if you rob her of that?”
“She’ll find someone else. Someone better. She deserves better than a murderer.”
“So we’re back to that, huh?” The doctor set his notepad and pen on the coffee table in front of him and stood up. “Why do you call yourself a murderer?”
“Because by definition, that is what I am.” He turned to face the doctor, his lips twitching with irritation.
“So the military is made up of a bunch of murderers?” The doctor stood a few feet in front of him and crossed his arms.
He was taller and more muscular than Michael would have expected, and he had gray hair that was cut close to his head. Michael noticed for the first time that he had callouses on his hands.
“Am I a murderer?”
“You were in the military?” He could see it now—the edge to the man. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before.
“Navy. Ten years. Served in Vietnam. Killed more people than I can remember. I tried to keep count like it would somehow make it okay, but eventually, there were just so many.” He shook his head. “But I’m not a murderer. I followed orders. I was in a war.”
Michael bit his bottom lip, which triggered an image of Kate to flash into his mind. Beautiful and stunning Kate, biting her lip . . .
“How many men have you saved? How many Marines are alive because of you?”
Michael shrugged and looked away.
“That may be a better number to count.” The doctor joined him at the window and looked down at the street.
Michael let the words sink in, but his attention shifted to a woman exiting a limo on the street.
A stunning blonde woman. Similar age. Same height. A dead ringer for Elizabeth, for Kate’s mother—for Kate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DON’T BE NERVOUS. EVERYTHING WILL go as planned. Kate walked around the ballroom, apprehension building inside of her.
The last three weeks had been a whirlwind as she prepared for the Boston Mayor’s Winter Ball. It had served as a well-needed distraction from Michael, though. She still couldn’t believe Michael never even gave her the courtesy of a call.
Over two months of silence. But she knew in her heart that hearing his voice would only make things harder for her. It was probably for the best.
For the last few weeks, she’d been spinning a story in her head, telling herself that she had only fallen for Michael because of the circumstances. She had simply been a character in a movie, falling for the rich playboy, going against everything she believed in because she had been in close quarters with him and was scared.
That wasn’t love. Just context. True love and fairy tale endings were exactly that—fairy tales.
Every day she told herself that story. And every day, she felt she was getting a little closer to believing it.
Kate smoothed a hand over her sleek, white chiffon dress. The one-shoulder gown reached her ankles but also gave her some breathing room with a long slit up the side leg.
Take a deep breath. I’ll be fine. She shut her eyes for a moment, allowing the music to fade into the background. Just breathe.
She gave a nervous swallow as she opened her eyes and moved toward one of her employees, gliding in strappy heels across the ballroom floor. “How are things going?” she asked, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.
The young brunette looked up at Kate and smiled. “Everything is perfect. The guests look happy. The mayor looks ecstatic. The music is divine.” She nodded and looked toward the orchestra.
“Excellent. I think you guys have everything covered. I’m going to go outside for a bit and get some fresh air.”
“It’s pretty cold out. The forecast shows snow, which is way too early for November.”
“I’ll be fine.” Kate smiled, grabbed her jacket from the coat check, and reached the large set of glass doors, noticing a slight tremble in her hand.
She ignored the alarm bells that sounded in her head as she stepped out onto the empty patio area. She rubbed her shoulders a bit, but the cool air was a welcome change to her heated and flushed skin.
She looked up to see the sun beginning to set, offering a blur of orange and pink that settled midway in the sky.
She tried not to feel a little empty as she glanced inside the ballroom through the glass doors, watching the happy couples move around the dance floor. She tried not to remember that she’d met Michael because she had been hired to plan his gala.
But the memory of their first kiss on the night of the ball slipped into her head and filled her with a mixture of pleasure and sadness. She missed his lips. The way they tightened when he stared at her as if he was struggling to control his desire.
Breathe. How many times would she need to remind herself to gather oxygen into her lungs? Tonight was such an important night. Thoughts of Michael bopping around in her head would only get her in trouble.
She forced her feet to move, to walk farther out into the maze that was the ghost of a garden. She found a bench and sat down, careful not to rip her dress as she pulled the soft coat snug to her body. She clasped her hands on her lap and shut her eyes. She needed a minute.
Just one minute.
“I thought that was you. What are you doing out in this frigid weather?”
When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking at Erick Jensen. Throughout the coordination of the event, she had spent a lot of time working with him—at his insistence. “Taking a break,” she said, offering him a small smile. “How’s your wife? Feeling any better?”
“She has a touch of the stomach bug.” He took a seat next to her and rubbed his hands together. His black blazer was most likely not keeping him warm enough. “You did an amazing job tonight. Your mother would be proud.” He moved a little closer to her, his leg brushing up against hers.
She gave a polite nod and forced herself to respond, “Thank you.”
The touch of his cool hand against her cheek stunned her. She pulled her brows together and studied him with caution, her shoulders arching back.
“God, you’re stunning.”
She ignored her nerves and moistened her lips. “Do you miss her? Elizabeth?”
The pad of his thumb had brushed across her lips before he placed his hand on her thigh. “Having you here has made me miss her a lot more.”
She could see him swallow. “The flowers you had delivered to my office two weeks ago—the white tulips . . . you said they were my mother’s favorite, right?”
He nodded, his eyes darkening as he focused on her mouth.
“When you had tulips delivered to my hotel back in Charlotte in September—how’d you even know I was in the city?”
“I—” He tilted his head to the side and eyed her. “Eh, what are you—”
“Do you ever visit my mom’s grave?”
“Kate, what’s going on?”
“You loved her, didn’t you?” His hand on her forearm sparked a w
arning inside of her, but she disregarded it. “Erick, please, just tell me—did you love her?”
He looked up to the heavens and back at her again, his eyes ablaze with . . . something. “Yes.”
“Do you want me? Do you want me because I look like her?” Erick’s mouth dropped open, and he gaped at her in silence. “Erick?” She stood up.
“I cared very much for her, and you look so much alike. It can be confusing.” He rose to his feet and braced his hands on her shoulders, urging her toward him. “Yes—yes, I want you.”
“Then tell me the truth. Tell me what actually happened to her. I won’t blame you. I promise. I need to know what happened.”
Without responding, he reached for her, his mouth covering hers.
She struggled against him and pulled free. “You killed her,” she rasped, unable to stop herself. “You killed my mother. Admit it.” Her voice was raw now. And her body warm from adrenaline.
Erick had changed at that moment. He no longer studied her with a love-struck gaze. His face grew taut with emotion—with rage. “I want you, Kate. I need you. Let’s forget the past and move forward.”
“I love someone else.”
He shook his head, his face twisting with anger. “No. You’ve been flirting with me these last few weeks. Wearing slutty clothes and brushing up against me. You’ve been teasing me.” He shoved his hands through his hair before balling them into fists at his sides. “You’re a whore like your mother.” He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her against him, his hot breath on her face. “Your mother fucked me, made me fall in love with her, and then wouldn’t leave that asshole, David. She was everything to me. Fucking everything.” His voice, a low growl, echoed through the air.
She could feel his spit on her face as he yelled. “And you’re just like her—a manipulative bitch.”
“Why’d you kill her if you loved her?”
He ignored her as he began to yank her arm, trying to force her down the path, farther away from the ball.
“No.” She twisted and turned in his arms. She slammed her heel into the top of his shoe.
“Bitch!” He released his grip for a moment before seizing her arm again. “Your mother wouldn’t be with me, but—Goddamn it—you are.”
“Let her go.” A familiar voice roared through the air.
Kate shut her eyes at the sound. No, not yet. I didn’t get it yet!
Michael was on Erick in a split second. He reeled his hand back and socked him in the jaw, knocking him off his feet and to the ground. He kneeled down and reached for the lapels of his blazer before twisting Erick’s arms behind his back, effectively disabling him.
“Get the police,” Michael yelled while flipping him over, shoving his knee into Erick’s back, pushing his face against the concrete.
She chucked her heels and rushed with bare feet down the cold path to the ballroom, screaming for help as she neared the doors.
The security guards were at their stations, and there was a crowd of police, as well. The Boston Police Department was being honored at the ball this year. “Help!” she hollered as loud as her lungs would allow.
Everyone in the room stopped dancing, and the orchestra members dropped their bows. The party came to a screeching halt.
She was shaking.
The armed security guards and unarmed, uniformed police officers followed her down the trail. They rushed to action when they saw Michael standing over Erick’s body.
The guards aimed their weapons at Michael. “Back away!”
Michael looked up from Erick, his exhaled breath evident in the cool night. He held his hands up as he locked eyes with Kate.
“No. No, he’s the one who saved me,” she cried out, but no one seemed to hear. She watched in horror as they cuffed Michael and his eyes never left hers.
*
“Explain what happened tonight,” the detective said while sitting across his desk from Kate.
Kate glanced around the room, wondering where they were holding Michael. Why wouldn’t they let him go already? But why was Michael even at the ball?
Kate looked down at her hands in her lap and back up at the green eyes of the middle-aged detective staring back at her. “I have something I’d like you to hear.” She took an uneasy breath and reached into the pocket of her jacket.
The detective cocked his head and leaned back in his chair as Kate set her phone on his desk.
“Listen,” she said. She hit the play button.
When the recording ended, the detective squinted his eyes and leaned forward across his desk. “I didn’t hear him say he murdered your mother. Angry at her, yes . . . and he certainly hit on you. We can charge him with assault.”
Kate pressed her palms against the desk, knowing she needed to speak fast. “Twenty-seven years ago, my mother was shot while she was eight months pregnant with me.” She continued to explain the story, as well as the events that had led up to Dustin Scott’s arrest two months ago. “You can verify the story with the FBI.” She sat back in her chair, a little breathless.
“What finally tipped you off that Erick, a friend of the mayor’s, allegedly murdered your mother?” He scratched his chin and reached for a pen.
“The flowers.” She blinked a few times, still a bit shocked by how everything had come together. “When I was in Charlotte, white tulips were left on my mother’s grave and delivered to me anonymously at my hotel. I thought it was my stalker, but it wasn’t. Erick gave me the same flowers a few weeks ago, telling me they were my mother’s favorite. Something in my gut told me he was the guy.” She took a moment to replay the last few weeks in her mind. “I wasn’t sure, so I put my theory to the test. Flirted with him. Made him feel at ease with me. And then, tonight, I had hoped he would make his move—and he did.”
“A little risky, don’t you think?” he said, looking up from whatever note he was jotting down.
“I knew there were dozens of police officers at the ball. I wasn’t too worried.” Maybe it was a little stupid. “But I needed to draw him away from the ball. Make him feel comfortable.”
“And then you secretly recorded him?”
She nodded.
“And your friend, Michael Maddox . . . was he part of the plan?”
No. “You’d have to ask him what he was doing there.” She bit her thumb, nervousness settling in now that the adrenaline rush had dissipated from her system.
“I guess I’ll go talk to him myself.” He stood up from his desk. “Don’t go anywhere,” he warned before walking through the maze of desks and toward a closed room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KATE PARKED HER CAR AND walked a block or so down the street to her brownstone apartment, feeling safe in the dark hour, even though she’d been attacked by Erick not too long ago. He was in custody, after all. They’d made the official arrest, which meant Michael should’ve been on his way back to Charlotte.
The detective never told her what Michael had said to him, but it must have helped since Erick was now in jail. She wished she could have seen him, though. She would like to have thanked Michael, at the very least—and had the chance to ask him what he was doing at the ball.
She felt like she was losing him all over again.
As she neared her home, she stopped a few feet away from the steps. Her heart plummeted into her stomach with no parachute—there was no saving her.
“Hi,” Michael said, looking up at her from the front stair.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She stared at Michael. His hair stuck straight up like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. His jaw was tight, and his blue eyes looked pained. He was in a tuxedo. Only his tux was in pretty bad shape.
He rose to his feet and approached Kate, who was still standing before him, a statue. “You okay?”
“You’re here,” she muttered, toying with the straps of her purse.
He stopped inches from her. He pushed his hands into his pockets and swallowed. “Of course I’m here.
”
“How’d you know where I live?” Stupid question. This was Michael.
He dipped his head down a fraction and looked up at her from beneath black lashes. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
“For which part? Saving me? Or spying on me?”
“I saw Erick’s wife a week ago.” He took a deep breath and continued. “She was stepping out of a limo alone, and I approached her. I asked her who she was, and then I saw her necklace.” He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. “Here,” he said while handing her a photo.
Kate stared at the photo of her mom.
“His wife looked like you, and she had a necklace that resembled the one that was stolen from your mother.” He placed his hands in his pockets. “I did a little research, and I discovered that Erick had two other wives before this one. All of the women in his life had plastic surgery, becoming clones of your mother.”
Her mouth parted in shock. No wonder I never met his wife.
“I told the police that if they obtained the necklace, the serial number of the diamond would most likely match the one from the police report in regards to your mother’s murder.” He cleared his throat and took a step back.
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“But it looks as though you already figured out who Erick really was . . .” He removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed the nape of his neck. “I can’t believe you approached him like that—alone.”
She angled her chin up and studied him. “I guess I wasn’t alone after all.”
“I went to the police as soon as I had my suspicions about Erick, but they wouldn’t listen to me. So, I began following him. I didn’t want to tip him off. I was hoping to somehow catch him—but you beat me to it.”
“Well, thank you for rescuing me.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Again.”
“Am I too late?” His brows snapped together.
In what direction had their conversation just turned? The pain his absence had inflicted upon her tugged at her heart. “Too late for what?” Before he could answer, she added, “I appreciate you saving me.” A hot thread of anger coursed through her all of a sudden. “You kept your promise to find my mother’s killer, and for that, I’m grateful. But I’m not naïve enough to believe that means that you wa—” He silenced her with a finger to her lips, closing the gap between them.
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